Internal Ass Massage

The women called it a night when the last lights dimmed. Adriana rolled her shoulders and winced—too many feathers, too many contortions, an evening’s worth of ache stacked along her back. Samantha watched the slow, wincing smile, already tasting the excuse she’d been keeping for months. Adriana stripped to skin and stretched out on the leather couch. Samantha climbed over her, knees bracketing hips, corset laces dangling between them. Fabric whispered as both tops dropped to the floor. Warm oil slipped across Adriana’s spine in slow, deliberate stripes; Samantha’s palms worked lower, thumbs carving heat into the tight bands across her lower back until she reached the curve of her ass. Tension lived there—deep, stubborn, clinging under the flesh. Samantha pressed deeper. When Adriana’s breath caught and her hips tilted without shame, she slid lower, tongue darting first, then slick fingers, then the gradual press of her whole fist. Adriana opened, muscles giving in wet pulses. Inside, knuckles rolled against the wall of muscle that hugged her spine; every drag coaxed a new shiver loose. Samantha’s mouth stayed busy at the same time, lips sealed around Adriana’s clit, sucking in steady rhythm while the fist kept its slow, searching massage. Adriana came hard enough to shake the frame of the couch. They switched. Adriana took the oil, rubbed it between her palms, then eased two, then four, then the full stretch of her hand into Samantha’s waiting ass. Samantha stayed on her knees, pussy forward, clit riding Adriana’s tongue while the slow wrist-turns inside her loosened the same stubborn knots. She moaned against the leather, hips rolling in tiny involuntary circles until the tension snapped and left her panting, face pressed to the cushion, thighs slick.